Category Archives: wow that’s good to know

So where do we go from here?

This post peppered with medicinal kittens because smarter people are writing better things so I’m doing this instead.

This was a lot of us the night of the election:


If you’re like me you’ve been spending the last days feeling helpless and uncertain what to do.


Some things are easy, like donating to causes that you feel are important and might get left behind.  Some are harder, like reaching out to people who are hurting even if you don’t know how to help and are afraid you’ll fuck it all up and make it worse.

A lot of us keep getting stuck in that place where we hate humanity and are ready to become hermits.


Things feel upside down and scary.  Your emotions are valid.  It’s okay to be angry or scared or freaked out for yourself or for people you love.


Practice self-care.  Take a walk.  Do some art.  Sit in the grass and drink a booze-slushie.  Read a book.  Watch Doctor Who.  Avoid the internet when it gets to be too much.


There’s some crazy-ass bullshit out there and the craziest bullshit has the loudest voice.  Do not engage the crazy people.  Someone calling you the c word is not someone to be reasoned with.  Pick your battles.  There will be plenty.


It’s going to hurt for awhile.  So much so that you might not have the strength to help yourself.  Ask for help.  You aren’t alone.  Sometimes you need help to pull yourself off the train tracks, and sometimes you’ll be the person pulling someone else off.  This is how we survive.


Look for goodness.  There are so many people posting loving and caring responses or who are there to give hugs and protection.  There are so many more than you think.  Look for those glimmers of light.


We may disagree on many things but I feel confident that anyone who is a member of this community wants safety, equality, justice and happiness for every minority group that is afraid today.  This is a safe place and that is a needed thing.  Thank you for providing that.


There are serious problems in the world today and writing a post filled with kitten gifs is fucking ridiculous.  But ridiculous is what I do best.  And kittens are the closest thing we have to medicinal marijuana in Texas so I’m working with what I have.


Once you feel better though it will be time to turn your hand to making things better in a world that seems more divided than it ever has been.   Maybe it’s just smiling at everyone you meet.  Maybe it’s paying for the person behind you in the Starbucks drive-thru.  Maybe it’s donating to charities and organizations that help others who are struggling.  Maybe it’s just not screaming at people even though you really want to.  Maybe it’s letting people scream at you because you know they need space to vent.  Maybe it’s adopting a rescue animal and hiding away until you feel strong again, or volunteering at a hospital or homeless shelter.  Maybe it’s talking to your kids to ask if they’ve heard anyone being particularly cruel at school lately and making sure they know how to deal with it and how to report it.  Maybe it’s just ignoring this post and not writing something hateful about it even though you really, really want to.  Maybe it’s forgiving others or yourself.  Maybe it’s just continuing to breathe and not hurt yourself or others.  Those are all big things.


Whatever it is, I’m grateful.  It starts small.  It starts with us.  Me and you.


PS. Back to non-political stuff next week.  Promise.  Also, my last post was political and had over 400 comments and so far they are overwhelmingly compassionate and empathetic and encouraging.  That’s a small miracle, you guys, but it’s one we keep pulling off.  Thank you for being amazing and being a safe place for so many of us.


PPS.  Happy Veterans Day.  Thank you to all those who serve to protect us.  I hope we can protect you right back.

“Simmer down now” ~ Back-up Buddy Bobcat

Conversation at the thrift store:

me: Dude.  I think I might need that stuffed bobcat.

Victor:  Just keep walking.

me:  Look at his paw.  It’s like he’s saying, “YOU GUYS?  TAKE IT DOWN A NOTCH, OK?  JUST SIMMER DOWN.”

Victor:  Hm.

me:  We could carry him around in the trunk and you could pull him out to use as your supportive buddy to help you convince me not to do something stupid.

Victor:  I’m fairly certain that buying that bobcat would send the wrong message.

Ignore the photobomber on the right.

Ignore the photobomber on the right.

Clerk:  I can give you a huge discount on it if you want him.  He’s falling apart.

me:  I just don’t know.  It sort of looks like he wants me to calm down, but it also sort of looks like he’s leaning on an invisible bar.  Like a really shitty mime.

Victor: Do whatever you want.  It’s not that bad.

me:  That’s sort of the problem.  It’s not bad enough.

Clerk:  I’m confused.

Victor:  Welcome to my world, sir.

Ps.  I did not buy the bobcat, but I took a picture of him and then later I thought, “OH MY GOD.  I could put a trucker’s hat on him and call him ‘Little Smokey’ and have him lean out of the car window like ‘Hey there, big mama.  What’s your 10-4?‘ and no one would ever bother me at red lights because who is going to fuck with a girl being defended by her pet bobcat?  No one, that’s who.  But when I went back to the store, the bobcat was sold and I was a little upset, but Victor was all, “Calm down.”  And I was like, “THAT’S EXACTLY WHAT LITTLE SMOKEY WOULD HAVE SAID IF HE WAS HERE.”

And that’s when I learned that the time to buy a used, almost free bobcat is when you see one.  Let that be a lesson to you.


Your zombie armor has some serious design flaws.

My friend Shauna sent me a link to this:

It’s basically a nightstand that doubles as a shield and bat for fighting zombies.  And it will totally fucking get you killed.

No. Just no.

I mean, I applaud the concept but as soon as you pull out the bat you’re left with a giant exposed nail sticking out of the floor which you will immediately step on because it’s night-time and you can’t even walk across the room without stubbing your toe on something even when there aren’t zombies all over your house and then you’re going to bleed all over the floor and then you’re doubly fucked because you know when someone asks if you want the last orange and you say no because you aren’t hungry but then as soon as they cut into it you smell the citrusy juices inside and then you decide that you totally do want that orange?  Exactly. You just became the orange. Plus, now you’re distracted because you have a nightstand base stuck in your foot like you’re some sort of terrible shish-kabob. Honestly, it’s like zombies fucking designed this table.

And even if you do manage to kill the zombies and run out of your house you’ll still have blood pouring from your shoe and then I’m totally going to shoot you with my riot gun because I can’t see that well from my roof and I’m going to assume that you got bit in the foot and I just want to put you out of your misery before you turn into a zombie because I’m thoughtful that way. And then I’ll yell out “STOP SCREAMING.  I’M DOING THIS FOR YOU.  YOU’RE WELCOME” and that will be the last thing that you ever hear.  Plus, then I’ll probably go to hell because I’m pretty sure you get forgiven for shooting an almost-zombie from your roof but I think if you shoot someone who just accidentally stepped on a nail that counts as murder no matter well-intentioned you are.  I don’t know.  I haven’t gotten to the zombie part in the Bible yet.  I imagine it’s probably a mortal sin though.  At best it’s hard to defend.  So basically now we’re all fucked.  Nice job, asshole.  Maybe stop being so inconsiderate with your poor choice in zombie furniture and instead keep a riot gun strapped to your roof like the rest of us.

PS. I think I’ve had too many energy drinks today but this is all still valid advice.

Comment of the day:  Yeah…No. I’m just going to continue sleeping with a chainsaw under my bed. Also, there’s a surprise twist in the Bible. Turns out *Jesus* is a zombie. That’s why we have Easter. ~ Beckles

Men don’t understand science.

This was supposed to be a post about how awesome towels are but then my cat Rolly fucked it all up.  I was going to share my discovery about how if you wrap your hair up in a tight towel-turban when you’re upside down after a shower it pulls your face-skin back so it’s all taut and you look like you just had a mini-face-lift which is cool because you can combat the I-feel-vulnerable-because don’t-have-any-make-up-on problem with the but-I-do-have-a-youthful-fake-face-lift thing, but then when I was setting up my camera my cat jumped on my head.  And technically she does that almost every morning but this particular morning I was trying to document my towel discovery and it was fucking up the whole look, but then I noticed that the weight of the cat body actually pulled the towel further back and made the face-lift thing even more dramatic.  Which was kind of great except that she’s so fat that she sqwooshed my neck so I looked even less swan-like than usual but then I thought maybe it was an okay trade-off because her height gave me the illusion of being taller (which is slimming) so then I was totally conflicted and so I went and asked Victor, “Be honest…does does this cat make me look fatter…or younger?” and he just kind of stared at me and I’m all “Seriously, this is not a trick question.  This is for science.”  And then he was all “You know, you’re the reason why that damn cat jumps on everyone’s head.  If you’d stop letting her ride around like that we’d have a lot less people complaining that our cat attacked their head” and then I was all “I’m not even going to talk to you while you’re being ridiculous” and I walked away because Victor’s mother doesn’t count as “everyone” and besides, the cat was probably just trying to make her look younger.  Or fatter.  Hard to tell with cats.

PS.   This is exactly why I keep a tripod set up in my bathroom.  And also, it makes people take faster showers because they never know if the camera is going to go off.  So I’m saving water and inventing beauty tips.  And also I’m making cats more useful.  You’re welcome, America.

I showed this picture to Victor and he was all "Is that my toothbrush?!" like *that's* the pertinent issue. Victor needs to get his priorities straightened out. And also have no idea if that's his toothbrush. I'm way to busy doing science to pay attention to trivial shit like that.

Comment of the day: Clearly, to activate the scientific part of your brain you need a cat to sit on it. That’s why Einstein’s hair was so fucked up.  He didn’t want people to see the cat.  He wanted all the credit. ~ a

My biggest qualification for writing an advice column is the fact that someone gave me an advice column.

Holy crap, y’all.  I have my first real writing gig.  Writing an advice column. That just happened.

It’s for this company called PNN and I think it’s like CNN for chicks.  I’m afraid to ask what the P stands for.  All I know is that in spite of many, many emails letting them know what a horrible mistake they were making they were still all “Meh.  What’s the worst you could do?”

Me:  Hey!  I made a banner for the advice column:

PNN: Wow.  Let’s hold off on that one for a week or so.

Me:  I’m working on my first post.  You’re probably going to get sued.

PNN: We scoff at lawsuits.

Me:  I’d like to get paid in monkeys.

PNN:  We will give you several t-shirts with your face on them.

Me:  Can I have one with a big picture of me on it and it’ll just say “Why yes, actually.  I *am* wearing my own shirt.”?

PNN:  You are very weird.  Surprisingly, we still want to work with you.

This is probably going to be a disaster awesome.  Now someone please come over here and ask me for advice or else I will stab one of you in the ankle.

Comment of the day: I’m just gonna post questions that refer to your most outrageous blogs. Dear Ask the Bloggess on PNN – Does Jesus care what I do with my husband’s semen? Dear Ask the Blogess on PNN – Where’s the weirdest place you’ve ever had sex? etc.etc. Then you can just post your entries over again — I’m just saving you time. I’M HELPING YOU.  ~ emmysuh

Saving the world is hard, y’all

I know this might come as a shock to some of you but last night I had a revelation and it will change the way I write.  I was outside contemplating the sunset when I realized the pure perfection of the world and my place in it.  That’s why starting today I will no longer be using profanity and all of my jokes will come with a moral.  Like this one I just made up:


“Who’s there?”


“Jesus who?”

“EXACTLY, asshole.  Maybe you should go to church every once in awhile.”

And the good thing about this joke is that you can actually use it on strangers when you’re doing missionary work so it works on two levels.  Also I have this other joke about repenting where it’s all “What happens if you don’t ‘pent’ enough?  You have to RE-pent” but before I get to the punchline everyone’s all “Wait.  What does ‘pent’ mean?” and it messes up my flow and so then no one laughs and I’m all “YOU KNOW WHAT?  FINE.  It’s pretty obvious you don’t love Jesus at all.  We’re done with you”  Then I make a big deal of writing their name down on my list of people that I will ask God to curse with gonorrhea.  Of the face.  That way we’ll know who they are by sight and can shun them.  So, you know…get your shunning boots on.

Comment of the day: No, really, Jesus Who? ~ Aprylsantics

Disney World is a lie (now less offensive)

Note:  This post isn’t going to make a lot of sense because I wrote it and it was more than usually inappropriate so at the bottom I said (for this post only) I would delete it if anyone asked me to and someone did so the redacted parts contain stuff that I swear to God is probably not as bad as what you’re imagining.  Or possibly worse than what you’re imagining.  I guess it just depends on how fucked up you are.  Also now the comments will probably confuse you even more than usual.  You know what?  Just skip this post altogether.  Come back next week when I write about something less offensive.  Like the holocaust.

Last weekend my in-laws took us to Disney World with us and I took so much xanax I almost went into a coma.  Things I learned at Disney World:

1.  On the flight, when you’re watching “Love Actually” on your ipod and you realize that there’s a full-on humping sex scene in this sweet romantic comedy and you decide to freak out your husband by waving the humpers in his general direction you should keep in mind that his parents are sitting right beside him and will probably see it too and you’ll want to explain that you weren’t watching porn but you can’t find a way to broach it on a crowded plane with your 4-year-old beside you and all through the trip you’ll be waiting for the right moment to just clarify that you don’t watch p0rn on airplanes but that moment totally never comes.

2.  Redacted.

3.  A third of the Magic Kingdom was shut down because they were filming the Disney Parade that airs on Christmas and the Disney worker who was scooting us off the lot and into (swear to God) the back alley was all “Sorry folks, but this is how we make the Christmas parade magically happen on Christmas” and I was all “Oh, you mean by cheating.  Asshole.”  I didn’t say it out loud because my kid was there but I’m pretty sure he could see it in my eyes.

4.  I ate bad clams the first night I was there and got violently, violently sick.  All the characters look leering and fiendish when the only thing you want to do is find a place to throw up.

5.  Disney World is supposed to be all magical but I didn’t see a single magician.  I did see lots of animals though and none of them were masturbating but that was less “magical” and more of a “nice change from what I’ve come to expect from our zoo”.

6.  If I ran Disney World I’d make all the restaurants fill their hamburgers with glitter so later you’d actually poop glitter and it would be a magical surprise

7.  Everything in Disney World is shaped like Mickey Mouse’s head.  Sandwiches, plates, pancakes.  I was honestly afraid to ask for a tampon.

8.  At the “It’s Tough To Be a Bug” show everyone in the audience got acid sprayed on us and we were all farted on.  This is part of the fucking show.  Farted.  On. 

9.  We stood in line for hours so Hailey could see Mickey and he didn’t even talk.  Like, he just stands there and waves like some kinda incompetent mime.  Next time I’m bringing my own Mickey costume and right when Hailey gets out of the car I’ll jump out and be all “Hey!  It’s me, Mickey!  And not the shitty mime Mickey…the real Mickey.”  And then I’ll be all “Nice to meet ya!  Now get on those rides and if you see a long-ass line to meet me you can just skip it because that’s the crappy deaf Mickey and (redacted).”  Then Hailey will probably cry but either way she won’t want to see Mickey again and we can jump straight to the teacup ride which was awesome in that kind of way that will give you whiplash if you ride it with your husband who doesn’t seem to remember you spent all morning throwing up bad clams.

10.  Tigger was awesome.  Unlike that asshole Mickey who bonked my kid in the noggin with his big, fat nose. And then when Victor was all “You trying to give my kid a concussion, Mickey?” and he didn’t even respond at all, which I’m pretty sure is an admission of guilt.  We’re totally gonna be millionaires.

Update: It’s come to my attention that I’m kind of an asshole and pretty much all of my awesome readers have had a make-a-wish-kid at Disney and they are all very nice about it but honestly for this post and this post only, ask me to take it down and I totally will.  No questions asked.  This must be what it feels like to grow a conscience.  It feels like hell.  Is this how you guys feel all the time?  That must sucks.  I feel like the Grinch when he realized what a bastard he was except that I don’t have any toys to give back.

Comment of the day: There’s nothing wrong with a Mickey shaped tampon. Especially if you have a Mini Shaped Vagina. ~ Marinka

A letter to my very anal husband who is asleep in the other room


I know.  The weird pattern in the butter dish, right?  By now you’ve surely discovered it and are probably freaking out.  Well, last night I discovered that if I make eggos I can skip the butter knife and just drop the waffle in the butter tub.  It’s awesome.  Except that the hot waffle melts a weird pattern in the butter like an all-yellow plaid and the plastic tub melts a bit.  I know you’d prefer I use a knife because you’re kind of a little neurotic about this stuff but honestly I’m just not that kind of girl.  Mostly because I’m trying to save the environment by not dirtying a knife that would have to be washed.  I’m kind of a hero.  Also the knives are like all the way on the other side of the kitchen.  Poor planning on your part.  And by “on your part” I mean “by letting me unpack the kitchen when we moved in”.  I mean, I guess we could just switch the utensil drawer with the take-out menu drawer but that seems like a lot of work.  Unless I just pulled out the drawers completely and switched them!

Okay, now we have two drawers lying on the kitchen floor.  I got them both out but I can’t get them back in.  I’m sorry.  I don’t know what’s wrong with me.  Don’t look in the butter dish.

PS.  If anything you should be thanking me for the butter texturizer.  Remember that fucking ridiculous kick-ass burberrry car we saw and you were all “Wow!  I wish someone would do that to my car butter!”  Well, merry Christmas, asshole.

PPS.  I’m sorry I called you an asshole.  That was uncalled for.  Also, by now you’ve read this post and will surely exclaim that you did not ask me to burberry the car or anything else but really, you’ve got more important things to focus on.  Like fixing the 3 drawers that are on the kitchen floor.  I know.  But I thought if I took one more out slowly I could see how it worked and fix the others before you wake up but that totally didn’t work.  But I stopped at three.  You’re welcome.

PPPS.  Shit!  Okay, I thought maybe one more would give me the secret putting-the-drawer-back key.  Turns out?  Not so much.  At this point I’m considering setting fire to the kitchen to cover my tracks but I’m sure you’d just blame that on me too.  So I won’t because I know you’d be a jerk about it.  Also because that would be wrong and I would never set fire to our house.

PPPPS.  Okay, I just set fire to the house but it was on accident.  I was trying to make you a pizza for breakfast and accidentally put a bunch of towels in the oven.  I know it seems suspicious since I was just talking about burning down the house but it’s just a horrible, horrible coincidence.  I have to think that this never would have happened had our builders not put the bathroom so close to the oven.  It’s like they wanted me to set fire to the house.  Those guys are the assholes.  Not you.  I love you. 

PPPPPS.  I’m going to stop at the store on the way home and buy you your very own tub of butter so you don’t have to see the melty burberry one.  I’m sorry.  I don’t know why I didn’t just think of that in the first place.

PPPPPPS. None of this is actually true except for the butter part.  Aren’t you relieved?  I know you are.  And now you’re much less likely to freak out about the butter because, Jesus, it’s not like I tried to burn the house down (except for that one time when I did but that was an accident and the builder’s fault too because who the hell leaves the oven instructions inside the oven?  Someone who wants us all dead, that’s who.)  This was all just an exercise in perspective.

PPPPPPPS. Don’t look in the butter dish.

Comment of the day: I just shaved our dog to distract my kids from the dead hamster. It’s all about smoke and mirrors and subterfuge.  ~CarolynOnline

Fooling technorati and other award-winning junk

So according to technorati, this is what my blog is all about:


I was feeling really crappy about this “review” but then a friend pointed out that this was mostly just from the tags I use on each of my posts so starting today…new and improved tags.  (See above.)   I’m taking suggestions for others. 


Overheard in a full elevator this week:  “Well at least I didn’t say that her womb smelled like butterscotch.”*


Dog attack update:  After a week of Victor getting annoyed with me constantly asking ”Does this look infected?” he was about to strangle me but then I went to get my stitches out and it turns out that bite I kept insisting looked infected?  Is infected.   Yay?


* I’m pretty sure you can call it “overhearing it” even if you were the person saying it.  Also, guy-on-the-15th-floor, “womb” is a perfectly acceptable word and I do not appreciate you giving me the stink eye every time I see you.